Loss is loud. Most of us expect the crashing waves of a spouse’s death or the hollow, echoing silence that follows a parent’s passing, but what happens when the person you lose is the one who knew your coffee order and your worst secrets? When the memoir Grief Is for People hit the shelves, it felt like a collective exhale for anyone who has ever felt "out of place" in their own mourning. It’s a book about jewelry, a suicide, and the strange, jagged edges of friendship.
It’s messy.
Sloan Crosley didn't write a "how-to" manual. Thank God for that. Instead, she captured the specific, frantic energy of losing a best friend and mentor—in this case, Russell Perreault, a titan in book publicity. The book isn't just about the fact that he died; it's about the fact that he was there, and then he wasn't, and the world had the audacity to keep spinning.
Why Grief Is for People hits different than other memoirs
Most books about death focus on the "Big Three": parents, partners, or children. There is a clear societal script for those. You get the bereavement leave. People bring casseroles. There are boxes to check. But when a friend dies, especially by suicide, the script dissolves. Grief Is for People explores what researchers sometimes call "disenfranchised grief." This is the kind of pain that doesn't always feel like it has a "right" to exist in public spaces.
Crosley’s narrative is split into segments that mirror the stages of her own unraveling. It begins with a burglary. Someone broke into her apartment and stole her jewelry. Shortly after, Russell took his own life. The two events become tangled in her mind. It’s a brilliant, if painful, metaphor for how loss feels: like something has been forcibly taken from your private sanctuary.
Honestly, the way she describes the bureaucracy of death is what sticks with you. You’re expected to navigate police reports and memorial services while your brain is basically short-circuiting. She doesn't polish the experience. It’s gritty. It’s funny in a way that makes you feel slightly guilty for laughing, which is exactly how real life works.
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The hierarchy of mourning and the "friend" problem
We have this weird, unspoken ladder of who is allowed to be the "most" sad. At the top are the spouses and the kids. Friends are often relegated to the sidelines, the "supporting cast" of a tragedy. In Grief Is for People, Crosley challenges this hierarchy without ever being whiny about it.
She lived a life intertwined with Russell’s. They shared a language. When that person goes, a whole dialect of your personality dies with them. You lose the only other person who speaks your specific brand of sarcasm.
What we get wrong about closure
People love the word "closure." It sounds clean. Like a zipper.
But as this book and contemporary psychological research—like the work of Joan Didion or even the "Dual Process Model" of grief—suggest, closure is mostly a myth. You don’t "get over" it. You just learn to carry the weight. Some days the weight is a pebble; some days it’s a boulder.
Crosley spends a significant portion of the book looking for her stolen jewelry. It seems like a distraction, but it’s actually a profound meditation on the desire to recover what is lost. You can’t bring a person back, so you obsess over the things you might be able to find. It’s a frantic, human impulse.
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The complexity of suicide and the "Why" loop
When a death is a choice, the grief becomes a detective story. You look back at every text. Every lunch. You wonder if the "see you Tuesday" really meant "goodbye."
In Grief Is for People, the search for answers is relentless. Crosley looks at Russell’s life, his career at Vintage Books, and their long-standing rapport. She looks for the cracks. But the truth she eventually lands on is one that many survivors of suicide loss have to face: you can't logic your way out of a tragedy.
Experts like Dr. Thomas Joiner, who has spent decades studying the "why" behind suicide, often point to a confluence of factors that the living can never fully map out. Crosley’s writing honors that mystery. She doesn't offer a neat explanation because there isn't one.
How to navigate your own "Grief Is for People" moment
If you’re reading this because you’re in the thick of it, you’ve probably realized that people say the wrong thing. A lot. They say "he’s in a better place" or "at least you have memories."
It’s okay to hate those phrases.
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Grief Is for People works because it validates the anger. It validates the desire to scream at the person for leaving. If you are struggling with the loss of a friend, or a loss that feels "unauthorized" by social standards, here is how you actually move through it:
- Acknowledge the specific loss of identity. You aren't just mourning them; you're mourning the version of you that existed when you were with them. That’s a double loss. It’s huge.
- Forget the "Five Stages." Elisabeth Kübler-Ross originally developed those stages for people who were terminally ill, not the ones left behind. Real mourning is more like a pinball machine. You’ll hit "acceptance" on Tuesday and be back at "rage" by Wednesday morning because you saw a specific brand of crackers at the deli.
- Find your "jewelry." Find a physical way to channel the restless energy. For Crosley, it was the literal hunt for her stolen items. For you, it might be a project, a garden, or finishing something they started. It’s not about "moving on," it’s about moving with.
- Identify your "Grief Council." Find the three people who won't try to "fix" you. You need people who can sit in the silence without feeling the urge to fill it with platitudes.
Moving forward without moving "on"
There is a section toward the end of the book where the reality of the permanent absence starts to settle. It’s less like a sharp pain and more like a change in the weather.
The most important takeaway from Grief Is for People is that your pain doesn't need a permit. You don't need to be a blood relative to be devastated. Friendship is a foundational pillar of the human experience, and when that pillar collapses, the whole roof sags.
Crosley’s work stands as a reminder that we are allowed to be "inconveniently" sad. We are allowed to take up space with our mourning.
Actionable steps for the newly bereaved
- Lower your expectations for your brain. Grief causes actual cognitive "fog." You will lose your keys. You will forget appointments. This is physiological. Give yourself the grace you’d give a person with a concussion.
- Audit your social circle. Some people are "crisis friends" and some are "brunch friends." Recognize who can handle your darkness and stop trying to get support from people who don't have the tools to give it.
- Create a ritual that isn't a funeral. Funerals are for the public. Create a private ritual—maybe it’s ordering their favorite takeout once a month or visiting a park they loved.
- Read others who have been there. Beyond Crosley, look into The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion or H is for Hawk by Helen Macdonald. Seeing your "crazy" thoughts written on a page by someone else is incredibly grounding.
Grief is a marathon where the finish line keeps moving. And that’s okay. The goal isn't to stop missing them; the goal is to integrated that missing into who you are now. You are a different person now. That’s the price of having a friend worth mourning.
Next Steps for Support:
If you or someone you know is struggling with thoughts of self-harm or suicide, help is available. In the US, you can call or text 988 to reach the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline, available 24/7. Internationally, please contact your local emergency services or a crisis hotline. Mourning a loss by suicide is uniquely complex—consider seeking out a support group specifically for "suicide loss survivors" to connect with others who understand this specific path.